


god is a woman

by spacegirlkj



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre series, more poetic bullshit you know me!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 05:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: “I didn’t know you smoked,” Ritsuko comments, pushing the ashtray away. Her hands come up to slide along Misato’s bare thighs, cool in comparison to the warmth of limbs kept warm from shared body heat and blankets.“Only after things like this,” Misato tells her.





	god is a woman

**Author's Note:**

> i finished nge idk in the summer???? before then? who knows. i finished it and then i procrastinated writing this and here it is. lesbianism. enjoy

There's a catechism to the way Ritsuko breathes. It’s in like a drag and out like swirling smoke from the end of a cigarette, even when she isn’t smoking. Somehow, here lips are always quirked, turned, pursed, tilted in some way or wrapped around something, leaving just the edges of red lipstick as a footprint of her existence. Misato was never, has never, will never be one for quantifying things like she does, but in this moment, the rise and fall of Ritsuko’s breath is a pattern that she can’t help but fall into, a dance her mind’s forgotten but her body remembers, a scar that still aches when poked. 

If Ritsuko notices her staring, she says nothing. Her lips  _ are _ wrapped around a cigarette now, and she pulls it away to reveal a rim of red staining the paper much in the same way it has stained Misato’s skin hours before. Misato’s ear is pressed to her bare collarbone, listening and feeling as she exhales a gentle breath, smoke swirling above their heads illuminated by the night shining through the window. Distantly, Misato worries for Ritsuko’s back, supporting her weight as she lies atop her, pressing against the floor with only a mat between. It’d be sad, moving, when Ritsuko’s chest makes for such a nice pillow, but Misato would if she were asked. She’s stubborn, and hates Ritsuko and her catlike smirk and the all knowing glint to her eyes, but would do it in a heartbeat if she so much as groaned and complained off hand. 

Misato lifts her eyes and rests her chin in the valley between Ritsuko’s chest, arms crossed right where her cheek was, across thin collarbones. Ritsuko looks down at her, blonde hair in tight waves, frayed from the humidity and a long day of work. Those bags under her eyes can be ignored, for now at least, because she flicks ash onto the back of Misato’s arm and chuckles when the latter jolts and brushes it off, disrupting the peace they crafted in the aftermath of something more.

“Who would’ve thought a lady with class like you would have such a bad habit,” Misato chides, breath fanning warm against Ritsuko’s neck.

Risuko hums, the vibration rumbling through them both. “A vice,” she murmurs. “At the very least, I clean, unlike you.”

It’s a half truth. Ritsuko has the decency to keep papers organized with clips and notes and colours, but Misato has tasted the many cups of cold coffee adorning her lab space, has laid in bed sheets never pulled tight, haphazard, a mess. At the very least, Misato pushed her dirty clothes into the closet knowing Ritsuko would spend the night. The cold coffee sits untouched on Ritsuko’s desk until Misato does something about it. 

Misato pouts, bottom lip swollen as she reaches forwards to take the cigarette from Ritsuko’s hand. She brings it to her lips and takes a long drag, eyes closing for a moment as she exhales, snuffing the flame out in the ashtray beside her bed. Smoke hazes between the two girls, dispersing slowly in the room around them while Ritsuko looks up at Misato much in the same way she stares at anything that interests her. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she comments, pushing the ashtray away. Her hands come up to slide along Misato’s thighs, cool in comparison to the warmth of limbs kept warm from shared body heat and blankets. 

“Only after things like this,” Misato tells her as Ritsuko’s hands move onto the small of her back, sliding down to cup her ass. Their hips are pressed flush together still, but Misato props her upper body up with each arm, resting her palms on either side of Ritsuko’s head. She can look at her better now, can take in the mole under her soft eyes and the stain of red wine and rouge on her lips. There’s a flush to her cheeks now too, no longer a stoic tone of pale, now blooming pale pink as the first flowers do. And Ritsuko smiles, crinkling the beginnings of crows feet by her eyes as one hand, rough from all her work with living machines, caress Misato’s cheek in a display of intimacy unparalleled by anything they’ve done together before. Slowly, Ritsuko guides her down, and Misato falls back into the wavelength she knows. 

They both taste like each other, with the smoke a lingering bite in the back of their throats neither care for. Misato kisses gentle by nature, pliant and wet and round where Ritsuko is all edges. She rests her hand at the nape of Misato’s neck and moves methodologically, with every tilt of her head leading to the next drag and smack of their lips, conducting Misato’s breaths like an experiment and rewarding her with a tantalizingly low drag of her bottom lip between Ritsuko’s teeth. 

Misato sighs, small and content, dropping down to her elbows to bring their faces closer together. The kiss is slow and without hurry, languid in the way that breaths fan hotly out against each others face, lips pressed together for the sensation of the drag rather than the frenzy of yearning for closeness. It isn’t as if Misato doesn’t want to close that gap, rather, she knows that Ritsuko won’t leave, that she wants this as much as she does. Ritsuko somehow still manages to lead the kiss even while lying beneath Misato. Calloused fingertips make little divets in the plush of Misato’s thighs, dragging them up and down while swiping her tongue along Misato’s teeth. It drives her wild, makes her shoulders tense and release in a circular motion that has her pulled tight-- like a bow string, a trigger, a set trap.

Nibbling on her bottom lip, Misato works open Ritsuko’s mouth to push her tongue past her teeth, feeling the tips of canines straightened from years of braces and the tongue that meets her behind them. Heavy breaths rise in the air between them, curling in the humid, sticky air, fueled by the way they’re left to breathe in each other, lips tingling as tongues trace over them. Misato likes how Ritsuko kisses. She is overwhelming in how her open mouthed kisses leave Misato chasing, pushing closer and closer and closer into her space, until the gap between them is a concept neither can bother to comprehend. 

Ritsuko smells like Misato, which is to say she smells like old linens and the fruity body wash she’s been using for the past four years. She also smells like cigarettes and sex, things they both share in common under this moon, and disinfectant and LCL fluid as well— less romantic things, but Ritsuko things nonetheless. Misato breathes it all in while Ritsuko hums and digs the nails of her hand into Misato’s shoulder, her other holding the weight of Misato’s right breast. She’s gentle as she squeezes, but holds her nipple between two fingers and rolls it without mercy, pride swelling at the soft whine elicited from the gesture. Misato huffs and opens her eyes to catch a flash of Ritsuko’s grin before she leans forwards presses her lips are into Misato’s left breast, kissing hotly along the underside. 

“Ah,” Misato sighs, head lulling forwards. Risuko laps at her skin, nipping as she kisses back towards one of Misato’s nipples. Her knee bends to slot between Misato’s thigh, pressing up against her, and Misato grinds down, slick rubbing against Ritsuko’s skin as another breath catches in her throat.

“Let me?” Ritsuko asks, looking up at Misato from her chest. She bites Misato’s nipple again, triggering a flush to Misato’s cheeks as she nods. She wants to be snarky, flirty, composed, but Ritsuko has stolen all of the composure from her. She’s oh-so polite, even now, with her knee pressed between Misato’s legs and her mouth pressing chaste kisses to her collarbones. Misato ruts down against Ritsuko’s knee, letting breath leave her lungs as she falls onto her back, the split second of equal footing between the two shared as Ritsuko catches her eye and smiles. 

But they aren’t on the same level for long. Ritsuko kisses Misato’s neck again, the bitter warmth of perfume mixing with its sweet scent, sweat a sharp contrast to her as a whole. She moves down lower, nails skimming Misato’s sides in a way that raises every hair on her body. Ritsuko has always taken her time with this part, following the curve of one breast down to her stomach, to where tough muscles lays covered by a soft deposit of fat. She nips, lightly, teasingly, and Misato preemptively feather soft blonde hair. A lifetime of bleach and toner, and yet. 

Ritsuko’s nose pushes past the small trail of hair that guides lower, and Misato stops thinking about that and starts to curl her fingers tighter. Ritsuko begins by lapping at the mess left from activities before, each brush of her tongue against Misato’s inner folds bringing a rush of overstimulation. Instinctively, Misato’s legs spread wider, grip growing stronger in a way she knows Ritsuko would beg for. She’s rewarded with a flick of a tongue against her clit and has half a mind to smile lazily as the pleasure fizzes up through her. Her free hand tugs at nipples spit shined and abused, but in tandem with Ritsuko’s teasing, it keeps her sane enough not to grind into her mouth. Whatever noises escape her are ragged now, barely above breathless whimpers and failed attempts at Ritsuko’s name. 

Ritsuko looks up, and oh, what a sight Misato must be— legs spread, back beginning to arc, hand pinching her own nipple and face morphing through different lax expressions. Ritsuko presses her tongue harder and then sucks, watching as the muscles in Misato’s thighs grow tense. It’s as if all of the heat in her body has moved to one fixed point, where Ritsuko attends to mercilessly. The pressure of her mouth is aided by the rapid movement of her tongue, up and down and up and down, nose buried in her dark hair, eyes falling shut once more as the hand resting on Misato’s thigh leaves to move ever closer to her cunt. Two fingers slide in, no friction to be found in the excess of slick, prodding at her walls as they begin to push deep inside of her. Misato’s moan breaks within her throat as a third joins, Ritsuko shifting, never stopping the steady pace of her tongue pushing patterns on her clit. 

Misato never expected to last long. She could feel the tension beginning to grow as soon as lips found her clit, as soon as Ritsuko looked back up at her with a smile pressed towards her heat. One leg hooks overtop of her shoulder, and Misato’s hips cant forwards because  _ oh, _ have Ritsuko’s fingers found their place rubbing against the best spot. Her mouth falls open as the word  _ faster _ falls from her tongue in a high pitched whine, head hitting the pillow as her body tenses. Ritsuko listens, not without sucking on her clit harsher once more, fingers rocking Misato forwards without a counterweight to hold her steady. Misato holds Ritsuko’s face against her as the coil snaps, shuddering as her throat hums raw, every small movement of Ritsuko against her enough to draw out another round of twitches. 

Slowly, her grip goes lax, and Misato’s hand falls away, chest heaving and cunt throbbing as Ritsuko sits back up on her feet. Her chin glistens with what little light reflects, and Misato groans when she wipes the remnants of herself off her lips with the back of her hand. 

“Good?” she asks, the question rumbling low in her chest. 

Misato takes a moment to stare— at her tiny nose, at her perfect, soft hair now tangled, at her smooth, sunkissed skin marked with half as many bruises that Misato has. Naked as the day she was born, Ritsuko smiles, shameless, confident, and lies down next to her. She doesn’t need to hear Misato speak to know the answer, but she does anyways. 

“Mhm.” 

It's all she needs.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is lesbianoikawa nd twitter is lesbianiwaizumi! im generally more interactive on twitter tho~  
> thanks for reading!


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